More Important Things
by Driftingthought
Summary: After the events of the 2014 FIFA World Cup unfold, emotions run high and spirits low as team after team is eliminated from the competition. And though David Luiz and James Rodriguez weren't able to celebrate a World Cup victory with their teams, they obtained something even better in the process: friendship.


**About two weeks after the closing of the 2014 FIFA World Cup, I wrote this story. I came up with this idea after watching the Brazil vs. Columbia match and seeing the video of David and James swapping jerseys. And I figured that if David decided to comfort James after Columbia lost the World Cup, why couldn't James do the same after the Brazil vs. Germany match? Half of this story is based off reality, and half of it's fandom.**

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More Important Things

The game was over, and the crowd was going wild. After a tough match, Brazil had pulled out a win against Columbia. David Luiz himself had scored one of the two goals that had ensured their victory; the opposing team had only scored once. Getting up from his knelt position on the field, David Luiz stretched. He couldn't help grinning as he and his teammates celebrated.

The World Cup was the kind of competition that soccer players across the globe couldn't get enough of. It was a gathering which occurred every four years that only the best of the best were lucky enough to attend, and every Brazilian win drew the team closer to their real goal: a World Cup victory. David looked to the sky and vaguely wondered if Brazil would be the one to win the title this year.

As David's eyes came back down, he noticed the Columbian team for the first time. A pang of sorrow flooded his body. In his excitement, he'd forgotten that while Brazil's hopes were still flying as high as their flag, Columbia's dreams and hopes were crushed with the final whistle. And while most of the team was on the ground and being comforted by their teammates, one boy was walking around the field without any consolation in sight.

James Rodriguez. David recognized the boy as the only Columbian player on his team who'd scored a goal in their 2-1 game. Over the course of Columbia's matches in the World Cup, James Rodriguez had shown the world that he was an excellent soccer player and a force to be reckoned with. But now, none of that mattered. Once ninety minutes were up, the World Cup was over for James and for Columbia. David didn't know why he found himself dodging his teammates' embraces of celebration and jogging over to James. Perhaps it was because James Rodriguez kept wiping his face, or maybe it was because James was the youngest player on his team and had already lost his dreams of winning the World Cup. Either way, David felt the urge to comfort the boy as best he could.

Although Brazilian player Dani Alves was already giving James his own words of comfort when David arrived, such condolence didn't seem to be helping James much. The kid was hysterical, and it hurt David to see the young soccer player losing it so outrightly. Didn't James know that he'd played an outstanding World Cup? Didn't James know that his skills on the field would've made even the best soccer players green with jealousy?

David Luiz hugged James before pulling away and looking at the audience in front of them. They were applauding David himself for scoring a single goal; they were applauding Brazil's win. But they weren't applauding the best player on the field: James Rodriguez. Incredibly fast, skilled, and comfortable in the position he'd been given . . . this kid was already proving himself one hundred times over. In the last six games, James had scored six goals. This feat was nearly impossible to do in regular soccer matches, much less the World Cup.

David raised his hands and clapped above his head, pointing to James Rodriguez so that the audience could see that he wasn't applauding himself. A few people in the audience understood his motives and joined in the applause. David nudged James on the shoulder before returning to his clapping and indication. More than anything, David wanted James to notice the audience so that he wouldn't think he was a failure. Because James Rodriguez wasn't. This kid's skills on the field didn't deserve a spatter of applause; he deserved a standing ovation.

But James Rodriguez wasn't calming down. The realization of losing the World Cup had sent him into a downward spiral of grief and guilt.

"Hey." David touched James on the shoulder to get his attention, and he was still talking as James took a deep breath to control his emotions. "You were amazing on the field today, understand?" James curtly nodded, and David could see that James was trying his best to not lose it any more than he already had. Once David reached forward and pulled the younger soccer player to his chest in a hug, he stroked James's hair to comfort him. "You don't need to cry, all right?" David put his hands on either side of James's face and looked into James's eyes. "You're not a failure; you're a success. You've scored great goals and played great matches. You've made your country and your team proud of you, James."

"And you don't need to be sad," Dani Alves said.

"Okay," James mumbled.

David almost felt physical pain at James's broken reply. Losing the World Cup could bring veteran soccer players to their knees in grief, and this World Cup was James's first. With a sigh, David embraced James again, pulling the boy closer than before and talking directly into his ear. "Listen to me, okay? You don't need to win a trophy to be a champion. You're already a champion for everything you've done in this World Cup. You're the best player on this field, and you can leave here with your head held high."

"Thanks," James said.

David Luiz pulled back and cupped James's face in both hands. "Don't ever forget that you're a champion, James. Ever."

"And you played a great game," Dani added. He clapped James on the back of the head before leaving himself.

James nodded forcefully. During David's last words, James had reached over and tapped David on the side of his torso. Now James was bunching up the hem of his own soccer jersey with an expectant-yet-hopeful look on his face.

Their eyes met for a second, and David understood. James wanted to perform a jersey swap. Not only was this practice a demonstration of respect and sportsmanship, but it was also a way of getting a memento so that the two of them would remember this game, or perhaps even this very moment.

Without a word, the two of them took off their shirts in unison. David took James's red jersey and gave the kid his own yellow one. David nodded with a smile, then moved in for a handshake and another hug. Still feeling James's body shake from emotion, David squeezed the kid in an attempt to eliminate James's remaining grief. James responded with a tight embrace of his own, and David tousled James's hair to further subdue the boy's emotions. "You were amazing on the field, and you don't need a trophy to tell yourself how good you are."

James nodded again. Arm in arm, the two of them began to walk off the field, each holding the other's jersey.

"Never forget that you should always believe in yourself," David continued. "You're a protégé, James. I know you'll go far. You've scored six goals in the last six games, and that's an incredible feat to do in the World Cup. And you think you're a failure? You're just about as far from it as you could possibly get. Understand?"

"I understand," James said.

"Your skills were — are amazing, James," David said. "You'll become the best of the best. Failure isn't the end; it's just the beginning once you pick yourself back up. You played a great game; you'll play many more. And though you may not have won the World Cup this year, that doesn't matter. You're already the champion of the world."

James glanced over at David and nodded. He smiled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." David pulled James to him and gave the kid a brief kiss on the side of his head before pushing him away toward the sidelines. David clapped once more for James as he watched him walk away. James's eyes were downcast, and he was continually using David's own shirt to wipe his face. But James had proven that he didn't need to win the World Cup to be a champion. David Luiz knew that for a fact.

~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

James Rodriguez couldn't believe his eyes after the final whistle blew. Shock and pure horror had rooted him to his seat during the game, but now James jumped up and looked at the scoreboard to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

Seven to one? _Seven to one_?

Everyone knew that without their captain Thiago Silva and star striker Neymar, Brazil had their work cut out for them against Germany. A one-to-one loss with a penalty shot German win would have been lucky for Brazil. One-to-two because Germany was good. One-to-three because Brazil was cracking under the pressure.

But seven? This wasn't a match; it was a bloodbath. To think that a team who was not only hosting but also a favorite to win could lose so outrightly . . . it didn't seem real. Before the game, fans had expected their team to defeat Germany and possibly win the World Cup title for the sixth time. More than ninety minutes later, the Brazilian team was being booed off the field.

And no one was taking it harder than acting captain David Luiz. The post-match interview showed him sobbing as he apologized to his country for the team's loss. James felt great sadness for David, and he felt great anger as he heard the shouts and accusations of the fans around him. It was already hard enough to be on a team that was expected to be perfect all the time; the fans weren't helping.

A certain man next to him was yelling all kinds of profanity at David Luiz for his performance against Germany. How could the fans talk about something they didn't understand? Would they have played the game any better if given the chance? Did they know the amount of pressure that was put on teams during the World Cup, especially a team like Brazil? Hosting the tournament meant that Brazil had to win. Being the Brazilian team meant they had to win. And if they lost — as they just did — they'd get this kind of response. No wonder the team looked ready to pass out before the game even started.

"How can you call yourself a soccer player with the way you played today, David?" one of the fans shouted. "You're the worst player I've ever seen!"

James frowned at the fan's words. David wasn't a horrible player; he was a star on the field. In the previous match, James stood nearby and watched as David calmly shot a direct free kick into Columbia's goal. When James later got the opportunity for a penalty kick of his own, he wasn't calm whatsoever. Before the kick, James felt like he was going to throw up right there on the field. Even in the match against Germany, David had stayed immensely calm considering the situation. Only after the match was over did David allow himself to lose it. Keeping one's emotions in check while on the field was a trait that not many soccer players possessed. James often wished he had that sort of self-control.

As people began filing out of the stadium, James pushed past the crowd until he found the stairway that led to the soccer field below. Two policemen were guarding the stairs, but once they recognized James, they let him through. He ran down the steps to the soccer field just as the Brazilian team was disappearing into the locker room. James tried to follow them but was stopped by a rather burley guard stationed there.

"No fans allowed, kid," the guard said.

"I'm not a fan, I'm James Rodriguez of the Columbian soccer team." James glanced around the man just in time to see David Luiz disappearing into the locker room. He looked back at the guard with a steely determination in his eyes. "I want to see the Brazilian team."

The guard looked him over before giving him a wry smile. "Then you'll have to fly to another continent. I don't know who these losers" — the guard jerked his head toward the locker room in indication — "think they are, but they certainly aren't Brazil. Brazil never made it to the field."

James Rodriguez sighed in disgust as he pushed passed the guard and into the locker room. Brazilian players were everywhere: sitting, standing, being comforted, or over by themselves. In the midst of it all was David Luiz, who was sitting on a locker room bench with his head bowed. Several of his teammates were trying to cheer him up, but to no avail. It seemed like David was too far gone.

Somewhere behind James, a door opened. James barely had time to hide in the shadows before a reporter walked in with a camera. Despite the murderous glares he received from the team, the reporter strode up to David Luiz and tapped him on the arm.

"Hello, everyone. I'm here with acting captain David Luiz," the reporter said. "So, David, do you have anything to say to the world now that you've humiliated your country, your team, and yourself?"

Thiago Silva was there in an instant, pulling David away from the reporter and giving the reporter a harsh shove back towards the way he'd entered. "Get away from him and leave us alone!"

Perhaps it was just bad luck that the reporter stumbled backward and happened to crash into James before he could dodge. The reporter recognized him instantly; then the microphone was there.

"It looks like stars are everywhere today, folks! I'm here with James Rodriguez, and I'm about to find out if all the rumors are true." The reporter threw an arm around James's shoulders in a false display of friendship. "So, James, am I right? Is Real Madrid really going after you and your skills?"

James put his finger to his lips to try to shut the reporter up, but the Brazilian team had already seen him. Some of them were giving him dirty looks on the pretense that he was here only to humiliate them. Thinking quickly, James came up with a fake story to get rid of the reporter. "I hear Miroslav Klose is thinking of divorcing his wife because she's pregnant by another man. You should check it out."

The reporter's eyes brightened. "Really? Well, that's spectacular!" And in an instant, the reporter and his camera were gone.

James turned back to the Brazilian team and waved halfheartedly at them. No longer wary of his presence in the locker room, most of the team had gone back into their previous state of grieving. Thiago Silva was the first to walk to him. They embraced quickly and broke apart.

"What are you doing here, Rodriguez?" Silva asked.

"I don't know." James eyes flickered to David for a second before returning to Silva. "I just wanted to give you all some sympathy and comfort, I guess."

Silva glanced over his shoulder at David, understanding James's intentions. "Yeah, you should." He raised his voice as he spoke next. "We all need to go, anyway."

David Luiz didn't move at this proclamation. Though some of the team was giving Silva curious looks, they all respected their captain and left without another word.

Once they were gone, James stepped out of the shadows. "Hey, David."

David gave no response, so James sat down next to him. The silence wore on, and James began to doubt himself for even showing up. When David Luiz had comforted him only a few days earlier, the older soccer player seemed to know exactly what to say. But now that the cleat was on the other foot, James found that the connection between his mind and mouth had short-circuited. What _was_ he supposed to say? That David played well? That the acting captain did a good job on the field? Considering the scoreboard, both of those sentences would've seemed like insults, though James would've meant them wholeheartedly.

"I . . . I liked watching you play," James finally said.

David turned away. "You're one of the only ones. Our defense was horrible."

"No, it wasn't!" James said. "You were facing a really good team, and the pressure just got to you. It could happen to anyone."

"I should've been able to keep the team together. I was horrible out on the field." David wiped his face with his hand and sighed brokenly. "I don't deserve to wear this armband." With a tug, David pulled the armband off his arm and threw it on the floor.

James stared at the band on the floor for a few seconds. Wearing such an armband signified captain status on a soccer team. Once Thiago Silva had been suspended from playing in the match due to a yellow card in the previous game, the armband had been passed to a hopeful David Luiz preceding their match against Germany. He'd worn the armband with pride during the first part of the game and now cast it off in humiliation.

James picked up the armband and slipped it on David's wrist. "No, you earned this, David! Your team picked you as captain because they believe in you! You're a great player, and you played an amazing game regardless of what anyone else thinks or says!" Despite all of James's words, none of them seemed to be sinking in. David had constructed a wall of grief around himself that refused to be broken.

"As I was walking into the locker room," David muttered, "I heard one of the fans shout at me that I gave him one of the worst performances he'd ever seen." David bit his lip, then continued. "And he's right. He's right."

James stood up and faced David. "A great guy once told me that you don't have to win a trophy to be a champion. You're already a champion for everything you've done, and you can leave here with your head held — "

"I was talking about _you_, James!" David shouted.

James blinked in surprise, but David Luiz's anger crumbled seconds later.

"What have I done in this World Cup to be proud of?" David asked bitterly. "I've only scored two goals; I've gotten out of position countless times and conceded goals because of that; I've let my team and my country down and . . . I've let myself down."

"But you're a great guy, David," James said. "You should be proud of the way you've been playing and the way you played today."

"I don't have any skills, James," David sighed. "If I did, maybe I would've been able to hold a defensive line and not let seven goals pass me by. Maybe I wouldn't have — "

"I wasn't talking about skills, David," James said. "You and I both know you have that in spades. I was talking about something more important."

David rolled his eyes. "What's that, James? Personality?"

"No, David," James said, feeling emotion well up inside him. "I'm talking about your heart. And you have more heart than _everyone in that stadium put together_!" Although it seemed cruel to yell at David, James knew why he was shouting and pointing toward the soccer field. It was because he believed every word he said.

David sat on the bench for what seemed like an eternity. As James waited for a reply, he saw the older soccer player begin to smile. Seeing David's spirits lift gave James hope, but in an instant the smile was replaced by crushing grief and regret. Finally, David looked at James and shook his head. "Heart doesn't win soccer matches, James."

James pressed his lips tightly together before answering. "You're right, David. It doesn't." Then James took a step forward and embraced David. He put both hands on either side of David's face and leaned toward David until their foreheads were touching. Their eyes met. "It wins something much more important than that."

David's clouded eyes softened for a moment, but James could see that David was still doubting himself. With a sigh, James sat down next to David and put an arm around his shoulder. "You know, I framed that jersey you gave me," he admitted.

David looked at James in surprise, then laughed for the first time. "Really?"

James nodded and laughed himself. "Yeah. It's hanging on my wall at home."

"Well, you couldn't wear it since it'd be like a paper bag on your body. I wore your jersey after our Columbia match, and it was hard to breathe." David grinned. "Do you shop in the infants' section at your store?"

James smiled. "And I bet you have to have your clothes custom-made. You're as tall as Bigfoot, and you kinda look like him with all that hair."

David laughed again, but his smile disappeared. His demeanor fell as quickly as his gaze. "I should give you all of my Brazil jerseys. I should just resign from the team. I'm not worthy to play for Brazil."

James shook his head. Couldn't David see that his own nationality wasn't what James had been talking about? Didn't David Luiz know that even though Brazil's heart and spirit were etched into his very being, it wasn't what really mattered?

James reached over and pulled David into a tight embrace. He spoke his words right into David's ear to make sure the soccer player heard them. "Listen to me: Brazil's the one who's not worthy of you. Don't you get it? You're a hero, David, but it's not because you represent your people. It's not because you're the essence of Brazil every time you run onto that field. It's not because you love soccer, and it's not because your blood is green and yellow. You're not just a soccer player, David. You're not just Brazil." James released David, and when their eyes met, James saw that David Luiz was smiling for the first time since the game had ended.

"You think I'm a hero?" David asked.

"I know you are, David," James said, "and so does your country."

David blinked slowly, then replied. "Thanks."

James nodded. "You're welcome, but I should be the one who's thanking you."

"What do you mean?"

"After the Columbia game, I felt like a failure," James admitted. "You were the one who made me believe in myself again."

"And you did the same for me, James," David said. The two of them embraced each other, and when James let go, David stood up and wiped his face a final time. "I should go now. My team's waiting."

"All right." James watched David leave the locker room. Although David's body was still sagging from his team's recent loss, James knew he would recover. David Luiz was strong inside and out.

At the doorway leading out of the locker room, David paused. He turned back to James. "Thanks for reminding me that I have the heart of a Brazilian."

James shook his head. "That's not what I was talking about."

David frowned for a moment, then smiled in genuine understanding. He nodded once and walked out of the room.

After several moments, James got up and left the locker room himself. Losing to Germany gave David the idea that he was a horrible soccer player; James knew for a fact that this was wrong. Because in truth, David Luiz possessed something that made him the best soccer player of all time.

Skills and trophies didn't make a person great.

And maybe one day, David Luiz would be able to see that, too.

o The End o


End file.
